


Long Hair Problems, And How To Outsmart Them

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Brunch, Bucky's hair, M/M, Morning Sex, Sexual Content, Sleepy Cuddles, Stucky - Freeform, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: “So I guess we’re not getting up early to line up for brunch?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some very nice people asked for this story to be a thing. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> *blushes like a sackful of beetroots; scampers away*

Steve was already beginning to stir by the time Bucky woke up that morning, drawing his arm tighter around Bucky’s waist.

“Morning, sunshine,” he mumbled into Bucky’s shoulder, bringing him back into the waking world.

“Mmm, that’s a _good_ morning,” said Bucky, his voice still hoarse with sleep. “So I guess we’re not getting up early to line up for brunch?”

“Brunch?” Steve rolled off of him then, propping himself back on his elbows, feigning indignation. “I was trying to suggest sex, but hell, if you want to get to the bakery before they sell out of blueberry pancakes, fine. See if I care.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come here.” He rolled over too, then, snuggling close into Steve’s side, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He let his hand drift beneath the waistband of Steve’s dark briefs. “Well, good morning to you too.”

“Buuuuuuck,” blushed Steve.

“What?” protested Bucky, brushing his fingertips against Steve’s burgeoning erection. “Am I not allowed to appreciate my best guy’s anatomy?”

“No,” Steve agreed, his breath catching slightly, “I appreciate your appreciation.”

“Good,” said Bucky, helping Steve shimmy out of his clothes, then letting Steve help him with his own. That was better.

They melted into each other more enthusiastically then. Steve shooed a stray lock of Bucky’s hair from his face with a puff of air: his morning breath was terrible, but then again, so was Bucky’s. It did nothing to deter Bucky from rolling his hips against Steve’s leg, revelling in the little whine Steve made when he tightened a hand around him, just a little. He stopped a moment to remove the damp ends of a stray lock of hair, which had somehow made its way into his mouth.

Okay. This was stupid.

Bucky rolled onto his side, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he sat up.

“Buck?” Steve asked with that careful tone he used when he was concerned. “Is this okay?”

Bucky let out a little laugh. “Jesus, Steve, of course it’s okay,” he said, rifling through the bedside table drawer. “Just… long hair problems, you know.”

He fished out a small pack of hair ties from the back of the drawer, bought from the corner drugstore out of frustration in spring: it was, it turned out, a challenge to focus on breathing and spinal alignment when the front curtains of your hair flopped into your face every time you transitioned from tree pose into a standing forward bend. He picked out a tie in a soft shade of orchid, and fastened his hair into a low bun. Steve was looking on quietly when he rolled back into bed.

“Smart,” Steve agreed. “Practical. Definitely sexy.”

Bucky had to concede that this part of their relationship was still new. For months, he would wake with a gasp, gripped by that split-second panic that he had dreamt it all, that he was alone. But as the panicked mornings grew fewer and further between, and as they decided that there was taking it slow and then there was taking it glacially, and at last they fumbled together in the night (and the morning, and the afternoon, and that twelve hours one time, with a short break to order takeout), it became normal, and comfortable, and better than Bucky’s maudlin dreamings could have ever let him believe. In spite of everything, the future was good.

“Thanks.” Bucky smiled against Steve’s lips, hands drawing slowly down his shoulders and chest. “Where were we?”

Before Steve could protest, Bucky was leaving an enthusiastic trail of kisses down Steve’s shoulders and chest and belly, all the while relishing the way Steve hardened beneath the lightest brush of his fingertips. Barely had Bucky pressed his lips to Steve than he was coming, eyes wide as if taken by surprise, but then settling back into a grateful puddle.

“Seriously?” giggled Bucky. “Aren’t you supposed to have super-stamina?”

“Shut up,” said Steve, swatting uselessly at the air. “That was just the warm-up.”

\---

They missed brunch by a long shot, but managed to get a table for a late lunch at the noodle bar Sam had recommended. Bucky changed into his yoga clothes as soon as they were home again, to attempt a few sequences while Steve answered emails.

It was only when he returned to mountain pose that he caught Steve looking on with, well, he was not quite sure what it was Steve was looking on with. He relaxed his stance.

“What the hell do you think you’re looking at, punk?” he asked. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Steve cleared his throat. “It’s just, your hair,” he squeaked, crossing his legs. “It’s… sexy, remember?”

“So I’m gonna have to deal with you gawping at me like a goddamn horny kid every time I try to do my yoga now?” he asked.

Steve seemed to be considering the question carefully. “Maybe you can do your yoga the same time I do my run,” he suggested. “Then we can… meet up, in the shower.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blush. “Sure, Stevie,” he said. “That’d be just grand.”


End file.
